


still a boy, (not) yet a man

by pisces_palindrome



Series: tous mes sacrifices [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Big Brother Dick Grayson, Big Brother Jason Todd, Brotherly Love, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne Whump, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gun Violence, Hurt Damian Wayne, I know it’s crazy, I think that’s all the angsty tags over and done with now, I’m sorry, Jason Todd: big brother extraordinaire, Kidnapping, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Damian Wayne, POV Dick Grayson, POV Jason Todd, POV Tim Drake, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, Sibling Banter, Soft Jason Todd, Swearing, That should totally be a tag, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim and Damian are actually civil with each other??, Torture, i don’t mean to hurt you precious child, it just happens, it’s kinda precious, like.. so soft for his bros, no jokes though, the baby is here, they’ve both mellowed out a little and only occasionally bicker in the way siblings do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-01-30 20:10:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21434017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pisces_palindrome/pseuds/pisces_palindrome
Summary: Tim and Damian are crouched on a rooftop during patrol, arguing about who’s taller now that Damian’s had a growth spurt when they hear the sound of gunshots and glass shattering, followed by panicked screams.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson (implied), Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Series: tous mes sacrifices [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726588
Comments: 64
Kudos: 497





	1. saviour

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a _very_ late entry for Whumptober 2019, but because it’s so late, I’ll just post it on its own.
> 
> Any appropriate warnings should be in the tags for each chapter, but if I’ve not tagged something and you feel like I should have, don’t be afraid to let me know. I’m always open to improving my writing.
> 
> Also, this is my first DCU fic, so please don’t be too harsh on me, but I hope you enjoy. I’ll give you a heads up before you carry on, I don’t update regularly, I just do it when I can, so please don’t read if that bothers you, but I will try my best to get the rest of this fic uploaded as soon as I can. Other than that, enjoy the fic!

Tim and Damian are crouched on a rooftop during patrol, arguing about who’s taller now that Damian’s had a growth spurt when they hear the sound of gunshots and glass shattering, followed by panicked screams. 

Their heads both turn to the sight of the disturbance almost in unison, and it’s kinda creepy how in tune they’ve become. Someone’s broken into the supermarket across the street from them. 

Damian looks at Tim with a smug little smirk on his face as he straightens up and readies his grapple gun. “I’m taller. End of discussion,” he declares as though it’s a fact, and then shoots his grapple gun at a ledge, taking off before Tim even has a chance to argue against him. That little pest. 

Tim swoops in through the broken window after him, landing lightly on his feet in front of the broken glass all over the floor. He steps cautiously around it before rushing up to Damian, who’s somewhat hidden behind a bookshelf which has been toppled over. His bright yellow cape doesn’t exactly help him with that, but who’s Tim to judge?

“How many do you count?” He murmurs under his breath, just loud enough for Damian to hear, who turns his head slightly at the sound of Tim’s voice before settling again, peeking through the gaps in the shelf at the attackers. 

“Five.” 

Then they hear an earsplitting shriek coming from somewhere nearby. Tim squints into the distance and spots one — no — two more men rounding the corner, wearing ski masks in a pathetic attempt to conceal their identities. One of them is suspiciously beefy with ridiculously big biceps; one of his arms is probably bigger than both of Tim’s and Damian’s combined. Is he on steroids? Tim thinks so. 

“Seven,” he corrects Damian, who huffs before starting to stand up, hands curling into fists. He grabs Damian’s wrist and yanks him back down again so that his masked eyes are level with Tim’s. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?” He hisses, quickly checking that no one noticed Damian standing up before turning back to him. 

“Going to help,” Damian whispers, trying to twist his wrist out of Tim’s grip. 

“Are you crazy?” Tim whisper-yells. “We don’t even know how many of them there are, or how dangerous they are. If you just go jumping in, fists flying, you’re going to get seriously hurt.”

Damian bristles, the tips of his ears reddening as he purses his lips in frustration. “Robin, we need a plan first,” Tim says, trying to soften his voice to make Damian understand. “You need to give me the chance to decide what to do, okay? I reckon they’re just trying to steal stuff, but they’ve got guns, so we need to be careful.”

He roots through his belt for a smoke grenade, making sure he doesn’t accidentally activate it while they’re still hiding. “Stay here and don’t move, okay? Just give me a minute to see what we’re dealing with here.”

“But there are innocent people there who need help,” Damian contests, scowling at him as he stands up again, drawing the attention of the bad guys because he’s a prideful brat. “And that’s what Robin does. Help people who can’t help themselves.”

And then he leaps over the fallen shelf onto the shoulders of one of the robbers, who stumbles into another as Damian jumps off of his shoulders and kicks his legs out, booted feet connecting with their faces as his cape flares out behind him. 

“I said _don't_ move, not  leap into action like you’ve got ants in your pants,” Tim grumbles.

“Mama, look! It’s Robin!” He hears a young boy cry out, voice filled with awe and relief. Shoot. Tim is going to need to help them get out of here safely too. 

Tim groans under his breath, cursing Damian and his inability to remain patient as he activates the smoke grenade and launches it in the general direction of a third robber, a little red light flashing three times before deep blue smoke suddenly starts to fill up the floor and the space around them. 

He sneaks up behind one of them and swipes his bo-staff at his head, using it to flip over the robber and smack at his legs, then plants his bo-staff on the floor and swings his feet into the robber’s chest, sending him crashing to the ground. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Damian punching a robber in the face, and something goes flying out of his mouth. Spit? Blood? A tooth? 

A tiny white object lands on the floor a few metres in front of him. He steps closer and crouches, peering at it. Oh, how  _lovely_.It’s a bloody tooth. Ouch.  _Hell hath no fury like a feral Damian._

Kicking the tooth away from himself, he runs further into the supermarket, finding the little boy and his mother huddled behind a large display of paint cans along with a handful of workers and a few other customers, hiding from two robbers. The boy’s face is pale and tear-stained, and Tim feels anger rising in him.  _ Who the fuck makes a little kid cry? _

He shuffles over to them and taps the kid on the shoulder, who jumps and whirls round, face brightening considerably like he’s just seen something amazing. Tim smiles at him and holds his finger to his lips, grin widening as the boy does the same thing to his mother, shushing the rest of the people huddled next to them. 

Then he steps out from behind the display, and shouts out to the robbers, who are clearly startled by him, going by the way they jump when they hear his voice. He picks up a smaller paint can from the bottom of the pile and swings it back and forth in his free hand, a smile making its way onto his face when the robbers stare at him like he’s deranged. 

“Hey, guys,” he calls out, striding up to them as he cracks the lid off the paint, not at all intimidated by the way they shakily point their guns in his direction. “Wanna play some paintball?” 

And then he launches the paint can at one of their heads, watching as bright yellow paint flies through the air before soaking one of the robbers and knocking out the other. He tries to carefully make his way across the slippy floor towards the remaining robber, skidding across the paint, which earns him a punch to the face. 

He stumbles backwards a little, slipping as he tentatively touches his jaw, wincing as he does so. 

_ Ow._

Yep, that’s _definitely_ going to bruise. 

He dives for the now empty paint can, which is beginning to roll away, and tosses it at the robber. Somehow, it lands perfectly on his head. Tim smirks to himself. If the paint can was red, it’d kinda look like Jason’s helmet. 

The bo-staff smacks against the paint can with a dull thud, and Tim watches as the robber’s legs give out and he goes down like a sack of potatoes. He looks to the people hiding behind the display and gestures for them to come out, quickly leading them out of the supermarket. 

Tim accepts a brief hug from the smiling little boy whose name he learns is Rahul, and ruffles his hair before going back inside, spotting Damian almost straight away. He’s helping an old lady out, and other than a shallow gash in his left arm and a small bruise next to the corner of his mouth, he looks none the worse for wear. 

Damian catches his eye and nods at him, but then his eyes suddenly widen. “Behind you!” Damian shouts, but he’s too late. Someone plucks Tim up by his cape and throws him into a shelf of baby products, which falls over onto him, trapping his legs almost as soon as he flies into it, as well as everything on it. 

_ Double ow. _

Tim shakes off the baby powder and wipes, cringing when he sees mushed up baby food on the corner of his cape. He takes in a deep breath before trying to heave the shelf off of his legs but failing, feeling more than a little unsteady. His head is aching something fierce, and when he presses two fingers to his forehead, they come back wet and sticky with blood. Just great. 

Through his rapidly deteriorating vision, he can see someone big making their way towards him.  _ So that’s where Steroids Guy went.  _

Tim tries to struggle to his feet but can’t without feeling extremely dizzy, head pounding worse than ever. He pats the floor around him for his bo-staff, but sees it back where he noticed Damian. He must have dropped it when Steroids Guy decided to play catch with him. 

Tim surveys his blurry surroundings. His only possible weapons which he’ll actually be able to use without needing too much focus are something which look vaguely like diapers, and honestly? He’s not too sure they’ll be much use against Steroids Guy. He closes his eyes and prepares himself for the beating of a lifetime, when suddenly, he hears a sharp battle cry. 

Tim opens his eyes and looks up to see Damian lunging at Steroids Guy’s back, wrapping his arms and legs around him so that he can beat his head with his weapon of choice, which just so happens to be a  _hairbrush._

Steroids Guy growls, trying to shake Damian off like he’s a dog and Damian’s a flea, but Damian’s persistent, reaching around his massive head to grab his wrists and twisting them to change his gun’s aim from the space between Tim’s eyes to the ceiling. 

Steroids Guy looks livid, almost roaring as he starts shooting all over the place, Damian’s hands still wrapped around the gun in an attempt to control the direction of the bullets. 

“Robin!” Tim cries out when the gun suddenly turns the wrong way and a bullet pierces through Damian’s right shoulder, knocking him off the shooter’s back and onto the floor, hairbrush flying out of his hand, landing on the ground just within reaching distance. 

“Hey!” Tim yells, furious as he picks up a nearby pack of wipes and uses it as a projectile, aiming for Steroids Guy’s head. It bounces weakly off his back, not even fazing him as he wraps his meaty fingers around Damian’s neck and roughly lifts him up off the floor, causing him to hiss in pain. 

Tim starts to panic when Damian’s face pales rapidly and then starts to turn an unhealthy shade of purple, his fingers scrabbling at the hand on his neck, scratching, pinching, but to no avail. Steroids Guy shakes Damian like he’s a rag doll, ignoring him gasping for air. 

“Stop!” Tim begs, watching as Damian’s body slowly becomes more limp the longer he’s deprived of oxygen. “He can’t breathe, you’re killing him!” He’s ignored again. 

“You little fucker,” Steroids Guy snarls, and Tim sees Damian scrunch his nose up when spit lands on his cheek. “I lost my last job because of you being a meddling little brat.” He yanks Damian closer to his face so that their noses are almost touching, and Tim feels a surge of protectiveness rising in him, still trying to heave the stupid shelf off of his legs. 

“You lost your job because you are an  _incompetent fool,_ not because I was involved,” Damian manages to choke out, prissy little face all scrunched up with indignation even as he’s being strangled. 

Damian never ceases to surprise him, but Tim wishes he would stop feeling the urge to antagonise every bastard trying to kill them on a daily basis. Damian’s rewarded with a punch to the face, and Tim winces sympathetically when he hears the crunch of what is most likely to be his nose breaking. 

“I would really like to put a bullet straight through your tiny little brain,” Steroids Guy mutters, pressing his gun to Damian’s forehead, grinning nastily when Damian flinches away from it with a confused little whimper. 

“But the boss wants you alive. For now.” Then he pistol-whips Damian twice, rendering him unconscious before slinging him over one of his shoulders like he weighs nothing and starting to walk away. 

“Wait,” Tim croaks, scrabbling at the man’s ankle unsuccessfully, then throwing the hairbrush at the man. It misses him by miles, flying down one of the aisles, but gets him to turn around with a raised eyebrow until he notices Tim glaring at him. 

Steroids Guy rolls his eyes before stomping back over to Tim, Damian’s unmoving body still dangling over his shoulder. “The fuck do you want, pipsqueak?”

_Pipsqueak?_ Tim’s not  _that_ short. 

“You can’t do this,” he tries to say as firmly as he can while covered in an assortment of baby food. “Batman will come for you. He’ll find you and he’ll be very mad.” For some reason, he sounds like a child. That’s probably a side effect of the concussion which he most likely has. 

“But that’s exactly what I want,” Steroids Guy explains, a smug smirk on his ugly face. 

Tim realises that this whole thing was a set-up. A trap to get their attention so that they could capture Robin in an attempt to lure in Batman for some reason. But he’s not even on the planet. He’s on an off-world mission with the Justice League. 

Well, that’s just  _great_, isn’t it?

His thoughts are rudely interrupted by the sound of Steroids Guy’s voice. “But now you know our plan, so I guess I’m going to have to take you too.” The last thing Tim sees before blacking out is a huge fist coming for his face. 

_Triple ow._

* * *

Tim wakes up to a massive headache and reaches up to massage his forehead, only to realise that he can’t. His arms are shackled behind his back to a wall and his legs are chained up. His vision is somewhat better now, and he looks up to take in his surroundings, breath catching when he notices Damian lying still on the floor in front of the opposite wall. He’s still unconscious.  _Shit_. 

Tim swivels his head around, trying to see all angles of the small room they’re trapped in. There’s no window for them to escape through, and the big rectangle in the wall which resembles a door is too far away for him to do anything about it with no hands. 

He looks down at his suit, cursing when he realises that his utility belt and contaminated cape are gone. That doesn’t leave him with much. Damian doesn’t have his either, but he’s worse off. He’s only in his domino, tunic and leggings — they even took his boots. 

Tim doesn’t know what to do. He’s starting to panic. “Robin,” he whispers, trying to wake him up. 

Damian does nothing. 

“Wake up,” Tim hisses, and tries to stretch his legs out to nudge Damian’s side with his feet. They just about brush Damian’s uninjured shoulder. 

“Robin, please,” Tim resorts to begging, eyes stinging with unshed tears. Fuck, is Damian even breathing anymore? Tim tries to calm down his own frantic panting and watches Damian, relieved to see his little brother’s chest rising and falling as he breathes. 

It’s clear now that Damian isn’t going to be of much use to him unconscious, so he’s going to have to orchestrate their grand escape by himself. But what should he do? 

His thoughts are interrupted by a whirring sound. He looks up to see the door moving upwards, away from the ground, and two men come through. One of them is Steroids Guy. That  _bastard_. 

Tim forces himself to keep his breathing calm. He wouldn’t want to risk being separated from Damian by doing something stupid like screaming at Steroids Guy. 

But he can’t stay calm when Damian is hoisted up by the collar of his tunic by Steroids Guy and dragged out of the room. Tim yells at him to bring Damian back, yanking at his chains until his wrists are sore and his voice goes hoarse, croaking on every other syllable. 

He coughs and tries to clear his throat before turning his attention to the man still in the room, who’s glaring at him so hard that Tim’s a little concerned that he might have a permanent scowl on his face. 

“Tell him to bring Robin back.” 

The thug just continues to glare at him as though if he does it hard enough, Tim might set on fire. 

“_Bring him back._ Trust me, if he doesn’t get Robin back in this room  _right now_, I will start screaming and I  _won’t_ stop.” 

The thug doesn’t do anything. So Tim starts screaming, yelling, swearing at him, rattling his chains, making as much noise as he can. 

The thug storms over to him and smacks him across the face. It leaves his cheek stinging and head spinning even more than before, but at least he got a reaction out of him. He grabs Tim by the throat and slams him against the wall repeatedly until his voice cuts off, and then leans in close enough that they’re both breathing the same air. 

“If you don’t shut your fuckin’ mouth right the fuck now, I will drag you into the same room as them by your balls and make you watch as we put a bullet in that brat’s head. You got that?” Tim nods, defeated. “Good boy.”

He’s roughly dropped to the floor and patted on the head, like he’s a dog. Tim flinches away from the man’s hand and snaps at his fingers with his teeth, swallowing past the lump in his throat when the muzzle of a gun is pressed underneath his chin and he hears the sound of the safety being clicked off. 

“You try anything like that again, I’ll put the bullet through you first and then dig it outta you to put it in him. Got it?” Tim doesn’t say anything, he just stares down the barrel of the gun. 

“Good.” The thug’s voice softens after he removes his gun from Tim’s chin and places it in a holster, as though he’s speaking to a child, saccharine and condescending. “All you need to do is behave, and so will we.” He pauses then and amends his threat, sneering. “Well, we’ll try our best to.”

As though it’s an afterthought, the thug suddenly pulls a piece of fabric out of his pocket and then presses his fingers into the pressure points under Tim’s jaw, forcing the fabric into Tim’s open mouth and tying an overly tight knot behind his head.

“There. That should stop you from being such a chatty little bitch.” 

Tim scowls at his back as he leaves the room, the door closing behind him. He starts to push at the gag in his mouth with his tongue immediately, trying his best to loosen it. It takes him longer than he’s happy to admit to loosen it enough that he can use his shoulder to roll it down his face and bring it down around his neck, coughing and wiping his drool-covered chin on the opposite shoulder. 

Then he brings his shoulder up to try and nudge at his earpiece so he can establish a comm link. It works for a few seconds, but all he can hear is crackling static before it completely shuts off, buzzing in his ear to show that there’s no signal. 

Well, there goes his plan of using his comm link to let one of the others know what’s happened. Fat load of good that’ll do if he can’t actually get a message to them. 

But what else can he do? He doesn’t know where they’ve taken Damian, or what the hell they’re doing to him. But if they’ve hurt him, Tim swears he will hurt them enough that they’ll think twice before so much as breathing on someone in the wrong way again. He might even enlist Jason’s help. God knows he wouldn’t need to ask Dick to come and help — he’d be the first one to come and right any wrongs done to his baby brother. 

He’s got a lock pick in one of his hidden pockets, but these chains are quite strong, so Tim assumes that his lock pick will probably snap in half if he tries to use it to pick the padlocks. But there’s no pain in trying. 

Tim ducks his head and uses his chin to nudge his zip up towards his mouth so he can get it between his teeth and unfasten it ever so slightly. Then he nudges his collar up with the tip of his nose and yanks at the stitches on the inside of his suit with his teeth, once, twice, thrice before they finally come undone and holds his suit open with his mouth, leaning forward to let the lock pick fall on the floor between his legs.

Tim tries his best to bring his thighs back together to trap the lock pick between his knees, chains squeaking loudly when he pulls on them with all his strength (which isn’t very much at the moment). 

He’s almost got the lock pick in his mouth when he suddenly hears someone screaming, the sound slightly muffled by the thick walls of the room and he drops it again, cursing quietly. Wait. Shit, is that  _Damian_ screaming?

The screaming cuts off suddenly, and Tim tones down the panic racing through his mind as he wonders what the bastards must have done to Damian to make him scream like that. 

He picks up his pace as he retrieves the lock pick from between his legs, leaning forward as far as he can to reach the padlocks near his feet, when the screaming starts again, even louder this time. His shoulders jerk and the lock pick goes flying out of his mouth, landing a couple of inches away from his feet. He can’t stretch them far enough to get it back. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Tim mutters under his breath. He’s scowling at the lock pick when the idea comes to him, and he could smack himself for not thinking of it sooner. There’s an emergency tracker in the heel of his left boot, but it needs to be activated. Tim has updated it relatively recently, so it should work better than the comm link did. 

The screaming is still going on, so Tim carefully taps the heel of his boot on the floor twice before scraping it across the floor, watching as the bottom of the heel pops open and a small red device falls out, practically invisible unless one was looking for it. He drags it closer to him until it’s nestled between his thighs, and then, holding his breath, listens carefully for anyone else in his surroundings. 

He can’t hear anyone else nearby, but maybe that’s because Damian’s screams are muffling them. He’s urged on by the reminder of Damian being in pain, clearing his throat before speaking. “Red Robin, override code AL-2E6.” 

A little blue light flickers on the tracker for a moment, and then it disappears, along with Tim’s hope that he’ll be able to get both himself and Damian out of this situation safely. 

Damian might be even more of a little shit now than he was when he was ten years old, but he’s Tim’s little brother. Tim shouldn’t have let him get hurt in the first place. Tim briefly wonders if this is how Bruce felt every time one of them got hurt after going out as Robin. 

But then the light flashes back on, and it stays on. Tim’s hope is renewed. He quickly leans forward and speaks again, keeping his voice hushed. “Activate TR-039.” A red light starts to flash next to the blue one, showing that the tracker has finally been activated. 

In the meantime, Damian’s screams have turned into cursing and threats. Tim can’t hear every word Damian says, but he’s just about able to make out when Damian insults one of the thugs by pointing out his receding hairline. Tim faintly remembers him doing the exact same thing to Jason, who had started to panic and asked Dick if Damian was telling the truth. 

Tim misses Dick and Jason. He wishes they were here to help him and Damian get out of here. But he’s activated his tracker now, so someone should be able to find him. Hopefully. 

Tim shifts to sit back against the wall and drops his chin to his chest, hoping with all his heart that someone comes for them. If not for his sake, then for Damian’s, because he’s not sure how much longer either of them will last. 


	2. victim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, it’s been _three months_ and I’m _so_ sorry for the wait, but I tried my best to upload this as soon as I can.
> 
> Genuinely, I’ve been so busy and stressed lately with university applications and both my dad and my grandpa have very recently been in car accidents within a week of each other and on top of that, I’ve just found out that my grandma has cancer, so... my life’s just been a real mess. 
> 
> I swear I’m not trying to make up any excuses, I’ve just been yanked around a lot in terms of emotions lately. Anyways, sorry for the delay, but here it is (finally), and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> —x—
> 
> Just a heads up, Damian will be sustaining various injuries in this chapter, and I am no expert in the medical field, so I have no idea if he should have bled out from his wounds or not. 
> 
> So, please don’t judge me if the wounds he suffers through seem too much for him to be awake through — this is just a fic, I wasn’t really trying to sound factually correct.
> 
> If you really can’t help yourself and feel the urge to correct me on anything I may have gotten wrong, please do so in a polite manner in the comments — I take constructive criticism, _not_ hate.

Damian wakes up underwater and panics, accidentally inhaling it as he tries to move, but for some reason, there is something pulling sharply on his hair, making his scalp sting. He flails his arms but cannot move them without crying out, water bubbling from his mouth as his shoulder _burns_ in pain. 

Damian knows how to swim for prolonged amounts of time, and the last time he was tested, he was able to hold his breath for approximately 6 minutes and 42 seconds. But all of the training his mother made him undergo during his time in the League of Assassins, all of the training that he has willingly partaken in with his father and Grayson as Robin, all of that combined could not have prepared him for _this_.

For being injured and rendered unconscious, only to wake up with water filling his mouth and nose and lungs, suffocating him until he nearly dies for a second time.

He thinks he is going to drown until he’s roughly yanked out by someone, sputtering water out of his mouth and lungs, chest heaving, and then Damian realises that it’s only his head and shoulders that are wet. He was not completely submerged, but someone was holding his head under the water.

He only gets a quick glimpse of the brute who shot him in the shoulder before fingers curl into his hair and his head is dunked back into the water, but he has just enough time to hold his breath beforehand. This time, he’s held underneath for much longer, chest tightening in pain as he fights the urge to gasp in precious air.

It’s only once he’s struggling under the water, lungs burning as he tries to hold his breath for just a little while longer that he’s pulled out of the water again, and unceremoniously tossed to the floor in a soaking heap.

Embarrassment makes his cheeks burn pink when he fails to stifle his whimper as he lands on his injured shoulder. Damian carefully rolls over onto his back, making sure he doesn’t show any more signs of weakness when he scowls mutinously at his kidnappers.

”What is the meaning of this?” Damian tries to snarl, furious, but he’s interrupted by a raspy cough which threatens to make him spit out his clogged up lungs, if only to get rid of the horrible sensation of something tickling the back of his throat as he struggles to breathe.

Once he has caught his breath, he glares back up at them with watering eyes, hands fisting behind his back when one of them starts to chortle.

“Aw, look at the poor bastard, Dave,” he says once he’s finally able to stop laughing, an ugly sneer flashing across his even uglier face. “He’s just a baby, he can’t handle this. I kinda feel sorry for the little shit. Look, he looks like a drowned rat.”

Rage floods through Damian, making his face heat up as he twists his wrists, trying to get free. If anyone looks like a rat here, it’s the one who made such a ridiculous comment in the first place, with his pale, gaunt face and his yellowing buck teeth.

Damian says so, anticipating the smack across his face, so he turns with it, letting it glance across his cheek. He uses the excuse of shock to glance around the room and unties the lousy knot in the rope binding together his wrists, taking in his surroundings and the fact that Drake is _not_ _there_ with him before looking back up at the ratty one, raising his chin even higher than before. 

“What?” He snaps, smiling nastily when the ratty one starts to bare his teeth. “It’s only the truth.” And then Damian mock frowns, tilting his head to the side in fake sympathy. “But I pity your mother. She must have been truly horrified when she ended up giving birth to _you_.”

The ratty one’s face twists in anger, and Damian is actually surprised by the strength in his spindly arms when he manages to hoist Damian up to hiss into his face, Damian’s feet dangling two inches from the ground.

”Shut your fuckin’ mouth before I sew it shut for you, you arrogant little shit,” the ratty one spits at Damian, shaking him as if to reinforce his pathetic threat. Then Damian is dropped back to the floor, landing in an undignified heap. 

Damian bites back his retort, deciding not to anger these thugs anymore than he already has. Instead, he allows himself to wonder where Drake is. He wonders if Drake is still here, or if he escaped as soon as he could and left Damian behind.

Maybe Drake wasn’t even captured in the first place. Maybe he made it out from that shelf he was trapped under and let this brute take Damian, happy to finally be rid of him, relieved that he no longer had to deal with the _demon brat_. 

_No_. Damian cannot think like that. 

They’ve agreed on a comfortable truce. They still bicker, but don’t snap at each other like they used to back when Damian was still a child, blinded by his mother’s teachings to the fact that Drake was actually quite a formidable ally. They’re civil with each other now. 

Drake wouldn’t leave Damian behind. Would he?

Damian is distracted from his insipid thoughts of being abandoned by Drake when he’s suddenly grabbed by his collar and someone attempts to lift him off the ground. He scrabbles at the floor in an attempt to escape, but is hoisted up anyway. He thinks that it’s the bulkier one manhandling him, because he’s quite certain that he would not have been so easily overpowered otherwise. 

Damian wriggles in the tight grip he’s being held in and manages to kick his captor in between his legs, grinning when he succeeds in making him grunt in pain as the breath is knocked out of him.

He’s dropped on the floor again and nearly makes it to his hands and knees to crawl away. But then there’s a sudden heavy weight on top of him and a _searing_ pain in his left hand, making a strangled cry bubble past his pursed lips. 

Damian closes his burning eyes and looks to his injured hand, inhaling sharply when he sees the knife in it, buried up to the handle. He’s not sure he’s brave enough to turn his hand over and see whether the knife is just stuck in it or if it has pierced through the other side. 

Damian forces himself to hold his breath so he doesn’t scream again when the weight of an entire body is lifted up off him and he’s plucked up from the ground to be dangled in the air. It is the bulkier one who has him these time.

“You move again or try to run away, I’ll put that knife through your other hand and then straight through your head. Got that, brat?” Damian does not respond, too stuck in his own head. He’s vigorously shaken, sending pain bursting through his wounded shoulder.

“I said, _got that?”_

Damian nods weakly, tension lining his shoulders as he’s suddenly forced into a rickety old chair and tied down to it, rope circling his wrists and his ankles, followed by his chest. The ropes are surprisingly thick and tight around him, and in his current state, he is barely able to find any weaknesses in the knots. 

When he twists his arms in an attempt to find out whether there is any give in the rope, pain flares up in his hand, and Damian has to resist the urge to curl his hand up into a ball, knowing that it will only hurt him more. It’s only then he realises that at some point, the bloody knife was removed from his hand. 

“What is it that you want?” Damian croaks, looking between his captors, who glare down at him. If he can figure out what exactly it is that these buffoons want, perhaps he will be able to find a way to escape by bartering with them. Or at least by tricking them into thinking that he will barter with them.

“Money?” He suggests when the two of them choose to remain silent — a foolish choice. They still don’t answer him. “Men? Territory? Weapons?”

”Shut the fuck up, brat,” the brutish one snaps as he takes a lighter out of his pocket and gets the ratty one to light him a cigarette. “What we _want_ is for you to keep your trap shut.”

The brute glances at the door, then at the rat, and then stares at Damian, striding up to him. He blows a cloud of smoke into Damian’s face and then grins when Damian struggles to remain composed, revealing ugly, chipped teeth which have clearly been stained by tar from the cigarettes he so frequently smokes.

“And me? Do you remember me, you little fucking thug? I used to work for _Red fuckin’ Hood_, I did.” The brute jabs a finger into Damian’s uninjured shoulder. “And then ‘cause of _you_, he fucking fired me. Just because I sold to one fuckin’ kid. Damn near killed me too for it, the crazy bastard.”

”You would have deserved it if he had,” Damian spits at the brute, but he doesn’t have the energy this time to avoid the smack that sends him rocking backwards in his chair.

And then there is something strange pressed to his neck, which is usually covered by his cape, but of course, these imbeciles had to take that _and_ his utility belt _and_ his boots away, leaving him with nothing too helpful besides his mask.

There’s suddenly a prickling sensation on his skin, and Damian’s neck feels hot and unbearably itchy for a moment, but then there is nothing but _pain_. Damian has to hold his breath to keep himself from screaming at how intense it is, and it only makes sense when Damian smells burning flesh and _heat_ and he turns his head to look with his peripheral vision at whatever the brute is holding to his neck.

It’s his cigarette. He was putting out his cigarette _on Damian’s neck_. 

When he finally removes it, Damian can already feel his skin blistering, trying to stitch itself back together to prevent infection, and he has to dig his nails into his palms to distract himself from the strong urge to scratch his neck, to _claw_ the skin clean off. 

The brute presses the tip of his bloodied knife to the burn mark, poking and prodding at it, and it hurts _so much_ when he finally pulls it away, because the metal has somehow stuck to his skin, that a layer of Damian’s skin is ripped off, and this time, he can’t hold back his scream.

The brute turns to the rat, beckoning him over to Damian with the crook of one of his grimy fingers. The ratty one approaches them carefully, and looks slightly uncertain, as though he has _only_ just realised that perhaps they are doing something wrong, that even though Robin has been fighting crime for years now, he is still just a _child_, and they shouldn’t be _torturing_ a child.

“Come on, Ron,” the brute encourages the rat. “Don’t be a pussy.”

When the rat crosses his arms and purses his lips, a stubborn expression on his ugly face, the brute just scoffs and turns back to Damian, anger clearly written all over his face. “I _knew_ you weren’t cut out for this shit,” the brute hisses, inspecting his knife. 

Then he buries his knife up to the hilt in the back of the chair that Damian is sat on, right above his shoulder. “Well, if you’re not gonna do shit, you could at least be useful.” The brute gestures to Damian with a flick of his finger. “Hold the brat back by his hair. Need to make sure he doesn’t struggle too much or I might _accidentally_ end up slitting his throat.” 

“At least I _have_ hair to hold!” Damian snaps. “Your hairline has receded so far back on your head that it’s practically nonexistent.” 

The brute surprisingly does nothing to him for that, just waits for the rat to pull Damian’s head back by his hair and pulls his knife out of the chair. Damian’s chest rises and falls rapidly as the brute trails his knife down it, down his stomach until it’s resting rather precariously on his hip.

”You know, Ron,” the brute starts, looking up at the rat over Damian’s shoulder. “I really _hate_ kids.” 

And then he jams his knife into Damian’s thigh. 

There’s a ringing in Damian’s ears, and his thigh is burning. He can hear someone screaming and looks around frantically, wondering how someone just managed to wander in and get themselves captured. His throat feels very sore, and it’s then he realises that he is the one screaming, but he can’t stop himself. 

And then he’s falling on the floor, still tied to the chair, watching as the brute and the rat stumble and start swearing at each other. Damian can smell smoke, but it’s not the smoke from the brute’s cigarette. It’s not the same smoke that Damian fears he will never be able to forget the scent of again, the scent that will haunt him in his sleep for days, maybe weeks, months, _years_ to come.

It’s the smell of smoke from a fire. From something burning. From an _explosion_. When he hears the sound of a boom, Damian allows hope to flare in his chest, allows himself to think that he’s being rescued, that his family are here. 

But then he realises that perhaps his captors have found his rescuers before they could find him. Perhaps they are going to move him to a different location, and are simply removing any evidence of them being here.

And yet, the brute and the rat had seemed surprised, _shocked_ even. He looks at them, and they look pale, disgustingly sweaty and panicked.

Damian still hopes.

When he hears screaming and cursing, and the crackle of electricity, Damian laughs softly as he catches the eyes of his captors, who are currently, as Todd would say, _shitting themselves._

He finally lets the tears of relief he’s been holding back fall down his cheeks because he knows now that he is _safe_.

Nothing can hurt him anymore, and no one will be touching him against his will. The thugs who dared to lay a finger on him will be punished for their crimes, and he knows that because Father isn’t here, _no one_ will be holding back.

Except maybe Grayson, out of some misguided sense of respect.

Damian’s brothers are here, and they have come to save him and Drake, wherever he may be. They will protect him, and they will avenge him. 

Damian closes his eyes and smiles to himself, listening to the sound of escrima sticks connecting with skin and bullets blasting through kneecaps.

He has been found. _He is __safe_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I’ll try and update this as soon as I can, but in the meantime, bribe me with comments, and look forward to Jason’s POV next!


	3. vengeance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who’s back!!! this chapter is a hell of a lot longer than i meant for it to be, but enjoy Jason’s POV :)
> 
> (btw, i know they spend quite a bit of time talking instead of getting Tim and Dami patched up and sent home and yes, Damian could’ve bled out in all that time. but honestly? i wasn’t going to kill anyone off in my first fic. that’s just mean.
> 
> also, (not) sorry about the fact that this is basically just more of Tim and Dami being good bros... i’ll try and get in some more Jason in another fic or something...
> 
> one more thing, Dick kinda has a bit of a meltdown in this chapter. it might seem a little out of character to some of you, but oh well. my fic, my rules.)

Patrol has been _really_ slow tonight. 

It’s been _at least_ half an hour since Jason took down a couple of thugs who were beating up some random little rich kid who wandered into the wrong part of town, and he’s honestly getting a little sick of playing rooftop tag with Dick in an attempt to pass the time.

He just wants to see some more _action_.

Jason looks over to Dick, who’s sprawled out on the floor, trying to pester Jason into sparring with him, but Jason just can’t be bothered. But then it seems like his wish has been granted, because Oracle is suddenly paging both of them through the comm link.

“Hey, beautiful,” Dick says, a huge grin on his face as he leaps to his feet, and Jason doesn’t have enough energy to do much more than roll his eyes. He’s grown tired of their awkward, unnecessary flirting, and Dick and Barbara both need to get over themselves and get with each other, for Jason’s sake at least.

“Hi, boy wonder,” Oracle replies, and her voice is as flat and mechanical as always, but Jason bets she’s smiling just as widely as Dick is. They’re both _disgusting_.

“Boys, we have a situation,” Oracle informs them, and it now sounds like the smile Jason was imagining has slipped right off her face.

“What’s the problem, O?” Jason asks, a strange feeling in his gut. They haven’t heard from Tim or Damian in a while, not since they separated to follow their own routes, but they’re both perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, and of protecting each other —

“Robins Three and Five might have gotten themselves into a spot of trouble,” Oracle’s voice comes through. “There was an altercation at a local store with a few thugs who were trying to rob it, but for some reason I couldn’t track it through the security cameras. I’m guessing they took the cameras out beforehand.”

“_Robins Three and Five?”_ Jason splutters. “You couldn’t have come up with better codenames for them?”

Oracle sighs wearily, and it sounds strange and staticky through her voice modulator. “Fine. Sleepy and Stabby have been taken from the store, and I’m currently tracking the getaway vehicle, but there are a few men still there who might be able to give you more information.”

_Shit_.

“I’m sending you the store’s location now. It isn’t too far away.” When Jason turns to look at Dick, he seems anxious, bouncing a little on the spot. He stops when he realises that Jason is staring at him, and steps up to the edge of the roof, ready to soar across the city and find their brothers.

Jason walks up to him, nods as he nudges Dick’s shoulder with his own, then jumps and fires his grapple gun, and he can hear Dick following not too far behind him.

It doesn’t take them long at all to get to the store and carefully tiptoe around the shattered glass on the floor, and soon enough, they find a thug starting to sit up, rubbing at his eyes and then trying to crawl away once he looks up to see them. 

Jason marches up to him and hoists him up by his collar, dangling him in the air and giving him a good shake. “Where are they?” Jason growls, and he thinks he hears the thug whimper.

“I don’t know, I _swear!”_ The thug squeaks, panicking when Jason presses the muzzle of a gun to the side of his head.

“Try again,” Jason snarls, pressing the gun harder into his skin, and then he feels Dick’s hand on his shoulder, firm but gentle. Jason drops the thug on the floor, then places a heavy boot on top of his chest before he can run away. 

“I can do this all night, trust me.”

“I don’t know, _please! _I — _Davis_ was the mastermind behind this whole thing, he said he wanted revenge or something, but I don’t know what for,” the thug blurts out, glancing at Dick like he thinks he’ll save him from Jason’s wrath. Fat chance of that.

Jason pauses.

“Davis, you say?” The thug nods desperately, and he looks like a bobble head. “Did this guy work for me at some point, by any chance?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“_Maybe_ isn’t good enough. Did he work for me — yes or no?” Jason threatens, putting more weight on the thug’s chest until he cries out. 

“Yes! Please — he’s not here anymore, just let me go! _He_ shot the brat, not me. You should be taking your anger out on _him_.”

Jason freezes.

“He _shot_ Robin?” He hears Dick ask, voice cold and furious, and the thug stretches his neck so he can look around Jason at Dick, then nods at him. 

Jason takes his boot off the thug’s chest, and then crouches so that they’re level with each other, reaching out to roughly pat the idiot on the cheek, who flinches away from him. 

“You’ve been helpful. Thanks.”

Then he stands up and hurls the thug into a nearby shelf, watching as he knocks it over and then slides down until he’s slumped over on the floor, clearly unconscious. 

“What was that about?” Dick asks.

“_Davis_ happens to be one of my old minions, and Robin passed it on to me that he’d found out Davis was selling drugs to kids.” God, Jason had been _livid_ when he’d found out, because Davis had actually been a good worker, strong and loyal, and then he decided to be stupid and went and sold shit to _kids_. 

“And I’m guessing he found out that Robin ratted him out, so this is his revenge plot.” 

“Yep. Pretty much.” 

“Found ‘em,” Oracle cuts in. “They’re in — wait a minute.” Jason glances at Dick, who’s staring right back at him. “That’s strange,” she says, humming in contemplation, and it still sounds so fucking _weird_.

“What’s wrong?”

“I _did_ have access to the trackers in their utility belts, but I’ve just lost them. Either they were damaged or someone’s taken them offline.” 

“_Fuck_,” Dick swears under his breath as they run out of the store. “Let’s go, Hood. Oracle, send us a predicted route of the getaway vehicle and try your best to get the trackers back online.” 

“On it,” Oracle says, and if Jason listens carefully enough, he can hear the clacking of a keyboard, can imagine Barbara pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

They have to wait for a few minutes before they hear something which sounds like Oracle making a victorious sound. “Gotcha,” she breathes. “I’ve found your getaway vehicle. It’s your stereotypical white van, but with no licence plate. Doesn’t matter, I’m tracking it anyways.” 

“It’s actually not too far from you, just a few minutes away. You know that block of old warehouses by the docks?” Jason assumes she’s addressing Dick, so doesn’t say anything, but neither does Dick, staring stonily into the distance.

Jason thinks his brief tenure as the Bat did him good. He’s got a better poker face now. 

“Guys?”

“Yeah?” Jason had forgotten she’d asked a question. “We know what you’re talking about.”

“Right. Well, if I’ve figured this out properly, they should be in the second closest to the docks.” There’s a brief pause before Dick suddenly perks up, touching a hand to the comm link in his right ear. 

“It’s — Red? Are you okay? What’s your location?” Dick starts to frown, tapping his comm link hard enough that all Jason can hear across the comms is static. “_Red_. What’s —”

Dick’s scowling now as he brings his hand back down from the comm and looks up at Jason. “No signal.” 

“It’s fine,” Oracle interrupts Jason just as he opens his mouth to speak. “I’m pretty sure I have their location anyway. I’ll relay it over. Just give me a minute... okay, done.” 

Dick and Jason set off again, moving as fast as they can, knowing that their brothers are in danger right now, and they need all the time they can get. The journey is unsettlingly quiet without Dick’s incessant chattering filling it up.

It’s when they’re running across the rooftops of the first few warehouses that something red starts to flash on one of Dick’s gauntlets, making him stumble a little before stopping in his tracks. And then there’s an alarm blaring in Jason’s own helmet, alerting him that one of his own is in trouble. 

Dick looks up at Jason, and his eyes don’t have to be visible for Jason to know that they’re wide behind the lenses of his domino mask. “It’s Red. He just —”

“— set off his emergency tracker,” Jason finishes.

“Let’s go,” Dick says, and Jason follows him as he leaps across and down, climbs down the creaky ladders which don’t sound like they’d be able to hold their combined weight, but somehow defy Jason’s expectations and stay steady as they clamber down them and around to the warehouse that Tim and Damian are in.

“Yep, there are definitely heat signatures coming from inside there,” Oracle confirms. “And Red’s tracker says he’s in there too. If I’m right, there won’t be a very good signal in there, at least going by what happened with Red’s comm, so get as close as you can without going inside, and I’ll tell you as much as I can.”

Dick steps up to a wall and Jason walks up to the doors, wondering if they’re old and worn enough to fly open if he tries to kick them in. Jason decides against it.

“Wow. These guys think a lot of themselves. They must think you’ll be easy to take down.” 

“Why’s that?” Jason asks, snorting. 

“I’m _pretty_ sure there are less than ten heat signatures in there, and we’re assuming that two of those are our captured birds. And they all seem to be quite close together, with the exception of one of them, which is maybe around thirty metres away from you.” 

“Okay, we’re going in now,” Dick murmurs. “We’ll update you on the situation as soon as we can if our comms go down.” 

“Roger that.” 

Then Dick turns to Jason, who’s pulled out a tiny package from his jacket, and sighs to himself. Jason shrugs, walking up to the wall and wedging the package into a hole in the wall where the brick is starting to crumble away.

He fiddles with it for a minute, then looks back at Dick, who nods at him. Jason grins gleefully underneath his helmet as he and Dick step far away enough from the warehouse to avoid any potential falling debris. Then Jason pulls a small device out of another one of his pockets and presses the red button on it, watching as the wall explodes. 

They run in as soon as the few aftershocks have faded away and it looks like they’re not going to be attacked by any stray bricks falling from the sky. Oracle was right, as she always is, because they only run into two thugs along the way. They each take on one and manage to subdue them fairly quickly. 

Whereas Jason just knocks his out after throwing the guy into a wall, Dick manages to restrain his own anger long enough to interrogate his thug. 

Well, _interrogate_ isn’t really the right word to use. 

The thug’s nose is broken and there’s an ugly bruise blossoming just under his left eye, blood trickling out of his mouth. He whimpers when Dick shoves him to the floor and places a booted foot on top of his chest, leaning in close enough to hold one of his escrima sticks mere inches away from the thug’s throat, charged and crackling with electricity. 

“_Where are they?_” Dick growls lowly, and it almost sounds like his Batman voice, but a hell of a lot more threatening. 

The thug doesn’t say anything, lips wobbling like he’s about to burst into tears as he points a shaking finger down towards the way they were heading. Dick marches off, leaving Jason with the thug. 

When Jason looks at the thug, he realises that there’s a little puddle underneath him. He’s confused for a moment before realisation dawns upon him, and his nose wrinkles as he nudges the thug with his boot. 

“I’m pretty sure you just pissed yourself because Nightwing said all of _three words_ to you, so I’ll spare you the humiliation of taunting you about it and knock you out instead. How’s that sound?” 

Jason punches his lights out before he has the chance to nod. 

By the time Jason has caught up to him, Dick has already made his way to some strange door without a handle and is overriding the biometric hand scanner in a poorly hidden panel in the wall. 

It takes mere seconds for the scanner to flash green, and the door makes a great groaning sound as it slowly starts to open, lifting from the ground. Usually, Dick would flash him a victorious grin, but today, he just nods at Jason and carefully steps into the room. 

When Jason follows him into the room, the door heaving shut behind him, he’s relieved to see Tim on the floor, hands and ankles chained up. Tim himself looks surprised, wide eyed as he glances over at another door on the opposite side of the room and then back at the one they just came through.

Then he shakes his head, wincing when Dick rushes over to him and brushes a hand over his leg. “Got thrown into a shelf of baby food,” he explains to Jason, smiling weakly. Dick pulls some tools out of a tiny hidden pocket in his suit, then starts to work on the locks. 

Jason makes his way over to them and crouches next to Tim, gingerly brushing his fingers over Tim’s forehead, where there’s a darkening bruise and a smear of blood. “Glad you guys made it,” he whispers, closing his eyes as he sighs, and then his eyes shoot wide open and he looks wildly between Dick and Jason. 

“Relax, Red,” Dick orders as he frees Tim’s legs and then his arms, trying to rub some feeling back into them. Tim shakes his head and tries to stand up, falling back into Jason’s arms almost straight away. 

“Shit, he’s shaking.” Jason looks up at Dick, whose hands flutter above Tim like he wants to touch him but doesn’t feel like he should, doesn’t feel like he has the right to. “What’s the matter, Red?”

“Robin,” Tim blurts out, still struggling to get away, and now Jason realises why. “You haven’t found him?”

When neither of them say anything, Tim curses under his breath, face falling. He pushes himself back up to his feet with their help, leaning against the wall. He stands there for a minute, breathing heavily before looking up at them with fear in his eyes. 

“I — they took him. I _told_ them not to, but they still _did_. And — he was _screaming_.” Jason can tell that Dick’s already getting ready to storm out and beat someone up, to avenge his brothers, and honestly, so is Jason. 

“Guys, you have to _go_, you need to _find_ him,” Tim begs, panicked. “I don’t — I don’t know what they were doing to him. What they _still_ might be doing to him. _Please_.”

Dick snaps out of the daze he’d fallen into and looks at Jason over Tim’s shoulder. He raises his eyebrow and gestures to the door, and the look on his face says _you want to?_

Jason isn’t sure if Dick doesn’t want to go and look for Damian because he doesn’t want to lose control and nearly kill someone, or if he feels like Jason would find it easier to make their brother’s captors feel the same pain as he clearly has.

He’s not too sure about which option would be worse either, but shoots the hand scanner next to the door and steps through when it opens up. 

Almost immediately, there are two more thugs there — a rather unremarkable looking one, and the other _very_ strongly resembles a rat, even more so when he opens his mouth to reveal yellow buck teeth. 

Jason pulls out one of his guns and blasts a bullet through the first one’s kneecaps, watching as he slumps to the floor. The rat-like one takes a wary step back, which proves to be a good decision, because Jason moves forwards and picks up the fallen thug, then smashes his head into the wall once, twice, thrice until he’s moaning weakly. Then Jason lets go and he drops to the floor, smearing blood across the faded yellow paint of the wall. 

Jason turns to the ratty thug, slowly walking towards him. To his credit, the thug doesn’t doesn’t try to run away, just stands there and stares, shaking like a leaf until Jason is all up in his space. “_Where_ is the kid?” Jason asks lowly, letting his fingers trail over his holstered guns. 

The thug gulps loudly, watching Jason with wide, terrified eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he blurts out, _stupidly_, because he clearly _does_, and is just digging himself into a deeper hole, like an _idiot_. 

“Oh, _really?_” Jason says lightly, pressing him into the wall with a gloved hand wrapped around his throat. The thug gasps and scrabbles weakly at Jason’s hand, face turning purple. “You’re in _Gotham_, and you don’t know who the fuck _Robin_ is, you lying piece of shit?”

”I — that’s not what I meant,” the thug squeaks out, idly kicking his legs and trying to pry Jason’s hand off. “It’s not — it wasn’t _me_. It was Davis, _he’s_ the one who wanted Robin, I _swear_, I didn’t _want_ to do it, he _made_ me.” 

Jason freezes, hand tightening around the thug’s throat, and his stomach drops. He pulls the thug close and then smashes his head back into the wall, _hard_. “What the _fuck_ have you _done_ to him?” Jason hisses, trembling in rage and fear. 

“I — _nothing_, I promise!” The thug chokes out, and he looks like he’s about to pass out. “I’m _sorry_, I’m sorry, _please_.”

Jason throws him down onto the floor, watching in disgust as he touches two fingers to his bruised neck and starts coughing. Jason rolls the thug over onto his back, knowing that he won’t regret it afterwards for even _one second_ when he brings his boot down with a vengeance onto the thug’s unprotected stomach, a satisfied grin making its way onto his face when he hears the sound of ribs cracking followed by the thug screaming in pain. 

Davis must recognise the sound of this particular thug crying after getting badly hurt for some reason, because the fucker rounds the corner with speed, nearly falling over his own feet when he freezes at the sight of Jason.

Jason grinds his boot into the thug’s broken ribs, ignoring his sniffling in favour of tilting his head a little and greeting Davis. “Dave, my man! How’s life been treating you? I heard you found a new job, and I’m happy for you, _really_.” 

Davis’ face pales and his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything. _So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?_

“I was just having a chat with your _pal_ here.” Jason kicks the thug’s side when he tries and fails to crawl away. “See, our little bird’s gone missing, and he says he _might_ know where he’s ended up. So just tell me where he is, tell me you haven’t touched a _single_ _hair on his head_, and _maybe_ I won’t put a bullet in your brain and cause some _permanent damage_.” 

“If the brat’s hurt, it’s his _own_ fuckin’ fault,” Davis hisses. “He deserves _everything_ we did to him.” 

“_We?_” Jason glances down at the thug trapped underneath his boot, who has started sobbing, his eyes screwed shut, his face turning a blotchy red. “So much for _Davis_ doing everything.” 

“Also,” Jason says, waiting for Davis to look back at him. “I have just one more thing to say to you.”

Jason takes his boot off the thug’s stomach, lets him think he’s safe and going free for a moment before picking him up by the collar of his shirt and launching him at Davis, who goes down when he’s hit like a sack of flour. He strides up to Davis, yanks him up off the floor and starts to pummel him, beating him until he’s nothing more than a bloody pulp. 

“You really think I’m just gonna sit here and let you say my little brother _deserves_ to get shot and beaten up and whatever else you’ve done to him, you sick _bastard?_” Jason snarls, shaking Davis until he suddenly turns his face to spit a bloody tooth out onto the floor. 

“_Where is he?_” Jason roars, and Davis scrunches his face up in pain before turning his head to look in the direction of the fallen thug, who has a hand pressed over the top of his broken ribs. 

“Ron’ll take you, _Jesus Christ_, Hood.” Davis sounds incredulous for some reason, confused as to why he’s being beaten up for hurting Damian and Tim. 

“I fired you for selling drugs to kids, you absolute fucking _dumbass_,” Jason snaps, furious. “What the _fuck_ made you think I wouldn’t beat the crap out of you for hurting _this_ kid?”

Davis doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that, closing his eyes like he’s trying to escape. Jason presses the muzzle of his gun to Davis’ throat, and his eyes fly open. “If I _ever_ find out that you’re hurting kids like that again, I will not hesitate to _slaughter_ you where you stand, asshole.” 

Then Jason knocks him out, unable to even look at him anymore, and walks over to the other thug — Ron — and hoists him up from the floor, pressing the gun to the back of his head. 

“Take me to him. _Now_.”

Ron whimpers and starts to limp his way to the room Damian is being held in. He nearly ends up falling several times, but Jason is right there to pull him back up and shove him in the right direction. 

They reach a door and Ron hesitates, hand hovering over the handle. Jason subtly reminds him of his presence by jabbing the back of his neck with his gun. “I — please don’t hurt me anymore,” Ron babbles as he turns to look over his shoulder at Jason, eyes pleading.

“Open the fucking door and we’ll see.” Ron gulps and presses down on the handle, pushing it open. Jason shoves him forwards and steps into the room, looking around. 

That’s when he spots Damian. _Damian_, who has _tears_ on his cheeks. 

And Jason sees _red_. 

See, Jason no longer shoots to kill. He’s made a vow not to. He now shoots to injure, or to maim. 

But now, after seeing his little brother like this, as strained as their relationship might have been in the past, after seeing Damian tied down to a chair, bleeding from a hole in his hand, from a bullet in his shoulder and a knife jammed into his thigh, cigarette stubs burned into his skin, Jason’s not so sure he’ll be able to stop himself from breaking that vow.

“Hood.”

He hears Dick’s voice — he sounds like he’s so exhausted, pleading with Jason not to shoot this miserable fucker in the head after all they’ve been through together to find their little brothers. After Bruce had trusted him to go and bring his sons back home safely.

The hand holding the gun to the thug’s forehead trembles, fingers tightening around the handle until his knuckles have turned white. His other hand, now curled into a fist around the collar of this bastard’s shirt, is shaking, and Jason can’t stop it.

“_Hood_.”

His hand brushes against Jason’s back then Dick backs off for a moment, like he’s hesitating before putting it back down and squeezing Jason’s shoulder. “Come on, we’ve found them. We can go home now and patch each other up.”

”Are you being _serious_, N?” Jason exclaims, almost whirling around to spit it into Dick’s face, but he stops himself, choosing instead to carry on glaring at the guy he’s still dangling off the ground, who looks like he’s about to piss himself.

”Look at the state of Robin.” He can’t bear to even spare a second glance in Damian’s direction. He’s too afraid he’ll lose control and end up shooting anyway, regardless of whether any of his family is there to witness it or not.

Instead, he gestures vaguely to Tim, who’s basically being held up by Dick’s arm around his waist. “Look at _Red_. And he didn’t even get the worst of it. You telling me you’re perfectly fine with taking these two home and letting these pieces of shit get away with hurting them?”

Jason turns slightly to look over his shoulder at Dick, whose jaw tightens as he turns to look at the unconscious thug lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, and then turns back to Jason.

“Of course I’m not.” His voice is soft, and he sounds a little hurt, offended even by the implication that he wouldn’t happily take on _anyone_ who hurt his family.

“But we have bigger priorities right now. Robin’s bleeding out over there and Red’s on the verge of falling asleep with a concussion.” Dick pads away to the nearest wall and slides Tim down to the floor, propping him up against it before pressing a finger to the side of Tim’s mask so that Jason can see the hazy blue of his eyes. 

Dick crouches down in front of him to murmur something into his ear, and Tim nods slowly as Dick ruffles his hair before standing back up again to stride over to Jason, stopping a couple of feet away from him and holding his hands up in surrender.

“C’mon, little wing. You’re better than this.”

And that makes Jason mad, because he thought everybody had finally gotten over talking down to him like this just because he didn’t fight crime in the same way that they did.

He stopped intentionally killing for them, he stopped firing lethal shots for them, hell, he’s started using _rubber fuckin’ bullets_. He thought that was enough for them.

Apparently he was mistaken.

He almost turns to snap right in Dick’s face, but as he does, he catches sight of Damian, still tied down to a chair. Still bleeding and burning and in pain. And honestly, Red Hood has _always_ been a sucker for kids. Even when they’re his own bratty little brothers.

His hand is remarkably steady on his gun now.

“You are so goddamn _lucky_ that I care more about them than I do about putting a bullet right through your _thick skull_,” Jason snarls, shaking the thug before whacking him in the face with the barrel of his gun, letting him crash to the floor with a dull thud.

Then he rushes over to Damian, untying him as quickly and painlessly as he can, but he can tell that it still hurts Damian as he presses a finger to the side of his mask and the milked out lenses disappear, revealing his closed eyes. Damian moans weakly as Jason pushes his hair off his forehead, barely opening his eyes until they’re half-lidded and he can make out who is stood in front of him.

He murmurs something into Jason’s ear as Jason leans in to try and inspect the knife in Damian’s leg, wondering if it would be safer to remove it or leave it in until they’re back at the cave. 

“What was that?”

”Drake,” Damian slurs, voice quieter than usual, and Jason can’t hide the worry he feels as Damian drops his head until it’s resting against Jason’s chest. “Where’s Drake?”

Jason’s not one to reprimand people for using real names in the field, and even if he was, he doesn’t think he could bring himself to scold Damian right now. Not with how pitiful he looks.

Instead, he drops his hand from Damian’s hair and thumbs at the space between Damian’s eyebrows until the crinkles in his mask from him frowning disappear.

”He’s right over there, with Nightwing.”

Dick perks up when he hears himself being mentioned. Jason can hear him saying something to Tim, but can’t quite make out the exact words. Within the next few seconds, they’re both making their way over to him and Damian. 

They’re in the same position as before, Tim leaning against Dick with an arm draped over his shoulders. But Dick is shocked enough when Tim pushes at his shoulders to let him go, taking Jason’s place and moving behind Damian to stroke a gentle hand through his hair, and Tim shuffles his way to Damian, crouching low. 

Jason has to catch him before he completely drops to the ground in front of the chair, hooking his arms underneath Tim’s armpits and linking his hands over his chest to steady him as he reaches for one of Damian’s bruised wrists. 

“I’m here, D.”

Damian looks up at the sound of Tim’s voice, practically deflating in relief when he sees him sat right in front of him. “I’m right here.” 

“Good,” Damian breathes, starting to close his eyes. He slowly reaches up to place his own hand over Jason’s, still on his face, and leans into Dick’s hand in his hair. “Thank you.”

”_No_,” Tim demands, and he sounds adamant, a little panicked in fact, squeezing Damian’s hand with his own, and it’s clearly hard enough to hurt, because Damian winces a little. “If I have to keep my eyes open, then so do you. I didn’t wake up and panic about how you were and where the hell you’d been taken for you to go and die on me.”

”Not dying,” Damian grits out, and he’s clearly in pain, hissing as their joined hands accidentally brush over the wound in his thigh. “Just sleeping. Having a nap. I deserve that after having to put up with those idiots for so long, don’t I?”

”Robin,” Tim repeats, and his voice cracks, giving away how emotional he really is. “You have to stay awake. We’re not losing you again.” Tim shakes his head, sighing as his hand tightens around Damian’s. “You _really_ need to stop doing this, okay?”

”Doing _what?_” Damian snaps, and he’s clearly struggling to keep his eyes open.

Jason can’t see Tim’s face from his current position, but he can perfectly imagine his expression. Shocked, hazy eyes wide, and then angry, cold, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. 

“Going and sacrificing yourself for one of us like it wouldn’t hurt the rest of the family _just as much_ to lose _you_.” Damian’s eyes widen, glassy like he’s on the verge of tears. 

Jason risks a glance up at Dick, who looks absolutely heartbroken. They can all remember a younger Damian who had been so much angrier, so much more _desperate_ to prove himself to his mom, to his dad, to the _world_. Somehow, he’d been even tinier than he is now when he shattered everyone’s hearts by giving his life for Dick without hesitation. 

God, he’d only been a little kid. Well, he’s still a kid now, but he’d been so _young_. So _small_. He’d barely reached Jason’s waist. He was younger than _Jason_ was when he’d died. 

“Yeah, I thought so,” Tim scoffs. “You know, we might not have been so close in the past, but you’re my _brother_.” His voice is remarkably clear now for someone who has a concussion. “I know you a hell of a lot better than you think I do.”

Damian still looks a little shaken, face much paler than usual, but then his expression goes completely blank as he stares at the two of them, jaw tightening. “I don’t know what you think you’re talking about.”

“Oh, _really?_”

Jason winces on Damian’s behalf because Tim sounds so _pissed_, and he knows from experience that an angry Tim should _not_ have his patience tested, because he gets fucking scary. He _definitely_ shouldn’t be made _more_ angry, because if he is?

Well, God help them _all_. 

“If you don’t understand what I’m saying, then I guess I can explain it to you back at home, in front of _everyone_, when you’re not about to pass out or being a stubborn little _asshole_,” Tim hisses, literally _shaking_ with fury in Jason’s arms. 

At the very thought of Damian passing out, Dick perks up from where he’s been hiding his shocked expression in Damian’s hair, and steps forward to lift Tim up out of Jason’s arms and into his own.

“I think that’s enough from the two of you,” he says, glancing between Tim and Damian with a stern look on his face. “We need to get you back home and stitched up before Agent A comes after us himself.”

”Fine,” Tim murmurs, deflating in his arms. Then he perks up again, wriggling as he tries to stand up himself. “Just put me down one second, N. Just need to do one thing.”

Dick stares at him, eyes narrowed, clearly reluctant to let him go.

“_Promise,” _Tim vows, eyes going all big and earnest and it’s hilarious how quickly Dick gives in to them.

Dick lets out a long sigh, like he can’t believe he’s doing this as he slowly lowers Tim to the ground, shaking his head. Jason’s moving to Damian’s side and painstakingly slowly lifting him up from the chair when he looks up to see Tim kicking one of the nasty fuckers right in his face, and there’s a horrible crunching sound as his nose breaks. 

Damian shifts a little, hand pushing on his shoulder like he’s trying to lift himself up enough to see what’s happened, and then relaxes, snorting softly into Jason’s chest.

When Tim hobbles back over to him, a ridiculously smug look on his face, Dick seems like he’s torn between scolding him for attacking someone who’s already down and laughing at the bastard’s misery.

The corners of his mouth twitch like he’s holding back a smile as Tim curls into him, a victorious grin still on his face, and then Dick turns to look at Jason and Damian, who’s clutching tightly to Jason’s jacket and blinking hard enough that Jason’s pretty sure he’s about to pass out. 

“C’mon. Let’s go home,” Dick says, tilting his head at the two of them before gesturing towards the rectangular hole Jason made in the wall when he blasted the door right off of its hinges. 

Dick walks on, holding Tim up, and Jason is about to do the same, but remembers something very important. On his way out, he stomps on the skinny thug’s hand, careful not to jostle Damian as he grins when he hears a little whimper and feels the bones of the thug’s fingers breaking underneath his heavy boot.

When Jason finally follows Dick and Tim outside, they find the Batmobile parked up right there. Alfred came through after all, like he always does. He makes to sit in the back with Damian, but there’s a little tug on his sleeve. 

It’s Tim, looking up at him from where he’s speedily squeezed himself into the backseat with big blue eyes which Jason had just mocked Dick for after he’d given in to them so easily, and yet here he is, a goddamn hypocrite, caving in to his manipulative little brother’s puppy eyes. 

Also, what the fuck? Tim is _twenty years old_. This particular technique at getting Jason to do exactly what he wants should _not_ be anywhere _near_ as effective as it actually is at this age. 

“I just — can I sit with him? I won’t hurt him or bother him, I swear,” Tim vows. “Just wanna make sure that he’s okay.”

”I —”

”It’d help keep me conscious too. I won’t fall asleep if I’m keeping an eye on him,” Tim babbles almost desperately, but Jason can see right through his excuses. He just wants to be close to Damian after what they’ve been through together, and Jason wouldn’t even dream of denying him that.

”Tim,” he starts, but he shouldn’t have even opened his mouth, because Tim just cuts him off again, looking like he’s about to start crying if Jason says he can’t stay with Damian.

“Please?” Tim begs, and Jason hasn’t even said anything to him yet, hadn’t even _implied_ that he would say no to Tim wanting to keep an eye on his baby brother. 

“Of course,” Jason murmurs softly, laying Damian out on his back so that his head is resting on Tim’s lap. “Never doubted you, Red,” he says as he rearranges Damian’s limbs to make him more comfortable, then shuts the door and comes round the other side, leaning in through the open door to place a gentle hand on Tim’s shoulder. 

“He’s safe though,” Jason assures as he glances down at Damian’s pale face, then looks back up to meet Tim’s worried eyes. “And so are you. We got you both, don’t worry.”

Then he gives Tim’s hair a quick ruffle, ducking away and shutting the door as he tries to contain his laughter when Tim squawks, outraged at the treatment and tries to smack at his hand. Once he’s finally inside himself, Jason has to curl closer to the door so Tim’s grabby hands can’t reach him, but Tim’s not trying to attack him anymore. 

When he looks in the mirror as Dick starts the engine, Jason realises that Tim is staring down at Damian and petting his hair, smoothing it out of his face as his other hand curls around Damian’s uninjured one, their fingers twining.

It feels like Jason’s interrupting a special moment, so he forces himself to look away and instead focuses his attention on Dick, who has been uncharacteristically quiet since Oracle first told them that Tim and Damian had been taken.

He’s seemingly interested in the several road signs on the way from the old warehouse where they found their little brothers to the manor, but a quick nudge to his shoulder gets Dick to spare Jason a glance before he looks back at the quiet road. 

“You alright, Goldie?” Jason dares to ask after clearing his throat, watching as Dick’s jaw tightens and he glances up at the rear view mirror, catching sight of Tim and Damian, the latter of whom is trying to sit up again and look right back at them.

“I’m fine,” Dick grits out, and he clearly isn’t.

Jason can tell that much, and even if he hadn’t been trained by the World’s Greatest Detective, the way the steering wheel makes a dangerous creaking sound as Dick’s fingers tighten around it would have given him away.

“It’s not like _I’m_ the one who got kidnapped and beaten up. Why would there be something wrong with _me?_”

Jason winces at that, and now Tim’s staring at them too, has decided to stop trying and failing to push Damian back down onto his lap in favour of watching Jason and Dick switch their usual roles, his hand still pressed firmly to Damian’s forehead.

”Oh, I don’t know,” Jason starts, crossing his arms and following his brothers’ examples to blatantly stare at Dick. “Maybe I’m just doing my brotherly duty and being a little concerned by the fact that it doesn’t seem like you’ve said a word to any of us since we found these two other than _barking orders at us_.” 

Dick flinches at that, finally deciding to show some emotion. He purses his lips, fingers tightening even further around the steering wheel before he eases up on it and reaches out to press a button, putting the Batmobile into autopilot mode. 

Then he just sits there for a minute, completely silent with his head in his hands as the three of them carry on staring at him. 

“It’s not...” Dick starts, and he still sounds a little mad, but then he pauses, makes a weird snuffling sound into his hands. Is he crying? 

“It’s not _fair_,” he mumbles into his hands, sniffling. Shit. He _is_ crying. _Fuck_. Jason’s not qualified to deal with this. He hasn't graduated to comforting big brother extraordinaire, Dick Grayson, quite yet.

“_Life_ isn’t fair, Dickie,” Jason drawls, glancing at him through the corner of his eye. “But go on. Explain what you’re moaning about.”

”I just — why do bad things always happen to good people?” Dick blurts, finally uncovering his face as he turns to look right at Jason. His eyes are a little puffy and glassy with tears that look like they could spill over any moment now. 

“What are you talking about?” Jason asks, a little confused as to why Dick has suddenly decided to go all philosophical on them. 

“I _mean,_ look at you. Look at _all_ of you.” He twists in his seat to gesture to Tim and Damian too. “All of you are so _good_, such _strong_ people, but life keeps shitting on you.”

”Dick,” Tim tries to interrupt, but Dick speaks over him as he rubs at his wet eyes. 

“When we blew up that wall and I first saw you, I — for such a small wound, your head was bleeding _so much_. I was terrified. And then _Damian_ —”

Dick’s voice cracks and he pauses to swallow thickly, looking over at his youngest brother, whose face has somehow gone even paler. “You were bleeding _everywhere_. It was like — when you died.”

There’s a brief moment of silence before Damian speaks up, sounding almost exactly like his usual bratty self if it wasn’t for the hitch in his voice because of how much pain he’s in.

”Don’t be an idiot, Grayson.”

Dick looks up at that, clearly miserable. “As you can see, I am very much alive and trying my best not to die again any time soon.”

“But you already have, and that shouldn’t have happened,” Dick complains, and he sounds like he’s about to start sobbing. “And it was _my_ fault. You died for me. _Because of_ _me_.” 

“It was my fault,” he repeats, like he’s trying to drill it into their minds. “It _always_ is.”

”No, it really isn’t,” Tim tries to placate him, but that just seems to anger Dick, because he slams his hand down onto the steering wheel with a heavy thud, shoulders shaking, but Jason can’t quite tell if it’s because he’s crying or because he’s mad. 

“Yes, it is!” He yells, furious now as he scrubs away the few errant tears on his cheeks which have leaked out from underneath his domino mask. 

“Damian dying was definitely my fault,” he starts. 

“_Grayson_,” Damian growls, and he sounds pissed too, which is just _great_.

Jason definitely did not sign up for this when he decided to come back to try and reintegrate himself into the family. 

“Damian, you only died because I went and got myself knocked out and then you tried to defend me,” Dick says, and Jason can practically feel the heat from Damian’s death glare at Dick. 

“That has to be the most _stupid_ thing I have ever heard coming out of your mouth, but do continue,” Damian hisses, livid. “We’ll see if your dumb little rant about apparently being responsible for _everything_ that happens to us was worth listening to.”

“_Damian!_”

Tim sounds scandalised and very shocked, and Jason feels the same way. What Damian just said, it was harsh and extremely blunt for someone who’s mellowed out a decent amount since he first came to Gotham, and it’s even more shocking that he’s said something like that to _Dick_ of all people. 

But, if Jason thinks about it a little more carefully, it isn’t really that shocking at all. Because Damian Wayne would always want to stop Dick Grayson from burning himself out by trying to carry the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. 

“_You_, Tim, I have wronged you _so many times_ now that I wonder why you still consider me to be your big brother,” Dick whispers. Jason steals a glance at Tim, who looks pained. “I took Robin from you without explaining _why_, I didn’t believe you when you said that Bruce was still alive, and then you — we thought we’d _lost_ you.”

“Dick,” Tim says, and his voice is so unbelievably soft, like if it’s any louder, it’ll somehow break the fragile tension hanging over everyone. 

“And Jason, I — I just don’t know what to say to you.” 

Jason doesn’t know if he should be offended by that or not. 

“I was a shitty brother to you when Bruce first brought you to the Manor. I took my frustration that I had with Bruce out on you, and that wasn’t right. And then you _died.” _His voice cracks on the last word, and he’s tearing up again.

_“_And I didn’t even come to your funeral. I didn’t get to mourn you until after everyone else had, and that’s something I will always regret.” Dick shakes his head sadly, and then his watery eyes widen, like he’s remembered another thing he’s supposedly done wrong to Jason. 

“Jay, I — I put you in _Arkham_. I put you in Arkham when the _Joker_ was in there _too_.”

And that — that’s a big blow. Jason wasn’t expecting Dick to mention that, at least not in front of the kid.

To be completely honest, Jason wasn’t expecting Dick to ever bring that up again, considering the fact that at the time, Dick thought that what he’d done had been completely right, in order to protect both Jason, and the rest of Gotham.

Jason wasn’t aware he ever, you know, _regretted_ it or felt bad about it. As far as Jason is aware, he’d felt no guilt or pity at all at the time. To be fair, there’d been no love lost between the two of them back then. 

“I thought we’d agreed not to speak about that,” he growls, narrowing his eyes. 

Dick lifts his head, a stubborn set to his jaw. “I don’t recall ever making that agreement,” he says, clearly determined to not let Jason get away with never talking about it again.

For a moment, Jason thinks he sees a little flash of _their_ Dick, not this broken shell of a man, but then Dick’s slumping in his seat again, and Jason is left feeling unsure and disconcerted. 

“How can you forgive me?” Dick asks him, pleading with him, red eyed and looking so _small_ in the driver’s seat. ”How can you even bear to _look_ at me?”

Jason opens his mouth to answer, to try and console him, but nothing comes out. Because if he’s being honest, he doesn’t know himself if he has even forgiven Dick for that yet. It’s been years now since then, but he remembers feeling so angry, so betrayed by his so-called brother. 

Completely ignorant of Jason’s inner turmoil, Dick carries on. “And then _I_ died.” 

Yeah, that happened.

That was a big bomb Dick had dropped on them not too long ago, the fact that he had actually _died_, that he hadn’t faked dying, had just faked how long he was dead for. 

“I listened to Bruce like an _idiot_ when he told me to go to Spyral, and I lied to all of you. I betrayed you and made you grieve for me, but —” Dick cuts himself off, making a strangled sound in the back of his throat as he looks at all three of them.

“I did it for _you guys_. I did it so no one had to lose you again, including me, and that was _selfish_ of me, and I’m so sorry,” Dick sobs, burying his face in his hands. “I made you mourn for me for _no reason_, I’m a _terrible_ brother.”

”It wasn’t for no reason,” Jason quickly cuts in. 

“What?” Dick asks, sniffling. 

“It wasn’t for no reason,” Jason repeats. “You still died, you were still _gone_. Doesn’t matter how long it was for. Still counts.” 

“Whatever,” Dick scoffs, brushing him off. “I still don’t understand how you have any faith in me.” He turns to Tim and Damian. “Why did you guys trust me to save you?”

“Well,” Tim starts after none of them can say anything, a tentative smile on his face. “We knew that if all else failed, we had Jason to back us up and bust us out of there.”

Jason’s pretty sure that Tim was just teasing, but Dick’s face still crumples, tears pouring down his face. 

Jason hurriedly reaches out to squeeze Dick’s shoulder, and he can hear Damian calling Tim a simpleminded buffoon in the back. Any other time, Jason would _strongly_ disagree, because Tim is a goddamn _genius_, but right now?

Yeah, he’s a buffoon alright. 

“I didn’t mean it like _that_, Dick,” Tim babbles, panicked. “I was just joking.”

”It’s no _joke_, Tim,” Dick croaks, placing his hand on top of Jason’s as he looks him in the eye. “You were _right_ to trust Jason. He’s a very reliable person. He’ll _never_ let you down, not like _I_ have.” 

Jason ignores the tiny part of him that’s happy about what Dick just said, the naive little kid who would’ve done _anything_ for his predecessor to praise him. Instead he concentrates on the larger part which is concerned about how his big brother is acting.

“Come on, Dickie. You’re the Golden Boy, the original,” Jason says, fingers digging into Dick’s shoulder. “We’re good because we look up to _you_. Hell, practically _everyone_ in the vigilante community does, you’re the best of us.”

Pain flashes across Dick’s face, so quickly that Jason wonders if it was actually there or if it was just a figment of his imagination. “No, I’m really _not_ the best, Jay,” Dick says, voice lowered as his hand slips back into his lap. “But I’m honoured that you all think so highly of me. Even if I don’t deserve that from you.”

And then he’s quiet, doesn’t say a thing as the Batmobile drives itself through a hidden tunnel leading to the entrance of the Cave. It’s not until they’re all unbuckling their belts and getting ready to get out that Tim speaks up again. 

“Dick, you’re our _brother_. If that isn’t reason enough for us to trust you, then I don’t know what is.” 

Dick’s breath hitches, and Jason finds himself grabbing his hand, giving it a quick squeeze in a feeble attempt to comfort him. Dick holds onto him tightly, giving him a shaky smile, and Jason can see the gratefulness in his eyes. 

“That’s not my point though,” Tim continues, voice strong with conviction. “My point is that no matter how long it takes, you _always_ come through for us in the end. Without fail. _Always_. We ask for your help, and you’ll put everything else down to come save us, because you _love_ us, and we love _you_. Don’t ever doubt that, okay? _That’s_ why we trust you.”

”What they said,” Damian slurs from the back as Jason starts to get out, and his back is turned, but Jason still hears Dick let out a little snort, can still picture the _genuine_ smile on his face when he stoops down to pick Damian up and carry him over to the med bay, which has already been prepped by Alfred, who’s stood there waiting for them, patient as always. 

“Master Jason, wonderful to see you again after a month,” Alfred says dryly, not looking up from where he’s carefully peeling Damian’s suit back from his skin to inspect his wounds, but Jason still feels like he’s being given that _look_. The look that only Alfred can give him — an odd mix of disappointment and fondness. 

“Sorry, Alfie,” he mumbles, ducking his head to avoid Alfred’s knowing gaze. It’s kinda ridiculous though that he’s a grown man and can still be made to feel like the little kid he was when Bruce first brought him home, just at the sight of a raised eyebrow or the sound of Alfred tutting at him. 

“Nonsense, lad,” Alfred says, and Jason can hear the smile in his voice, even if he refuses to look at it.

”I was — I had a job,” Jason says quietly as Alfred hooks Damian up to an IV line and starts up a blood transfusion. Alfred hums, looking up at him, and Jason glances at his youngest brother, who has finally given in and closed his eyes, wincing every time he breathes in. 

“But... I’ll try and stay a little longer this time. Somebody’s got to keep an eye on this one to make sure he doesn’t try and go out patrolling too early.” 

When he finally dares to look back at Alfred, feeling a little ashamed of himself, he’s surprised to see his mouth quirked up into the tiniest of smiles, so small that Jason can barely see it, and an eyebrow hitched up a little. “Of course, Master Jason. What would Master Damian do without you?”

Jason grins back at him, then down at Damian, who’s finally gotten knocked out, no doubt due to the sedative Alfred has sneaked into his system. He’s pale, and looks a little bit like a bloody corpse, but he’s had worse. He’ll get through it. 

Then he turns to see Tim and Dick whispering to each other, the latter sneaking worried glances at Damian. Tim’s scowling at Dick, which means that Dick has probably gone and done something along the lines of blaming himself for this happening, even though that’s a complete load of _bullshit_, considering the fact that he was with Jason _the whole damn time. _

It doesn’t take too long though for the scowl on Tim’s face to soften, and soon enough, they’re both smiling over at Jason. He points at Damian then gives them both a thumbs up, and points to the showers. 

Tim rolls his eyes, but runs over to squeeze Jason’s shoulder and seizes the opportunity to ruffle Damian’s hair, knowing that he won’t be attacked for it (even though Damian hasn’t attacked Tim for touching him in at least one, maybe two years now). Then he runs back to where he came from and disappears into the showers after dropping his gear into a messy pile on the floor. 

Dick takes a little longer to come to them. He watches Tim leave then glances over at them, starting to shuffle his way forwards like he’s scared that Jason will yell at him to leave for letting Damian get hurt, because sometimes, Dick Grayson can be a real _dumbass_. 

He kneels at Damian’s side and carefully takes hold of Damian’s uninjured hand, cradling it between both of his. Sometimes Jason forgets exactly how _strong_ Dick is, because he’s not ready for it when Dick curls a hand around his wrist and yanks, so Jason topples over and lands on his knees next to Dick, who leans into him after wrapping his arm around Jason’s waist. 

“Thanks, Jay.”

Jason startles and glances up at Alfred, who is studiously ignoring both of them and concentrating on Damian, then looks over at Dick, who’s not taken his eyes off Damian yet. 

“For what?”

”For talking some sense into me today.” Dick finally looks at him, and his eyes are still red and wet, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to burst into tears again. “You’re a damn good brother, you know that?”

Jason chokes, then turns it into a cough. “I’m the _best_ brother. It gets me brownie points with B, _and_ it gets me a better team when we have water fights.”

”Shut up, you brat,” Dick says, grinning as he shoves Jason’s shoulder, then pulls him close again. “Seriously though, you are. I’m really proud of you, little wing.” Then he smacks a wet kiss to Jason’s temple. 

Jason bites back a squeak and rubs furiously at his skin, glaring at Dick, who just smiles dopily back at him, still holding Damian’s hand. “What the _fuck_,” he hisses at Dick, staring when all he does is try to shush Jason, pressing a finger to his lips. 

“Quiet,” Dick whispers, mouth twitching into a grin as he gestures to Damian. “The baby’s sleeping.” 

Jason snorts at him, punching his shoulder. “He would’ve _slaughtered_ you for that if he’d been awake.”

”No, he wouldn’t,” Dick says, pretending to be offended. “He _loves_ me.” He pauses, grin widening as he stares at Jason. “And so do _you_.” 

“Fuck off, Dickie,” Jason says, but he’s smiling too as Dick squeezes his hip and nuzzles his hair. He squirms as Dick kisses his hair, assuring him that he loves Jason too. Dick lets him go with one final ruffle of his hair, then leans up to press a gentle kiss to Damian’s forehead, booping his nose before standing up to head to the showers himself. 

And now Jason can finally _breathe_, free from the cuddle monster also known as his older brother.

All he has to worry about now is breaking it to Damian that he’s not going to be allowed to patrol for a while, and then telling Bruce that his youngest nearly _died_ in the hands of a few measly thugs, but you know, he’s fine _now_. He lived to tell the tale. 

It’s nothing too much — all in a day’s work for Jason Todd — Red Hood and big brother extraordinaire. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are staying inside as much as you can and staying safe!! It’s such a crappy situation if I’m being completely honest, but we’ll come out on the other side of this, and we’ll be stronger and closer 🤞
> 
> Last chapter coming with the next update! Look forward to Dick’s POV in the meantime :)


	4. survivor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, guess who’s making this into a series? that’s right, it’s yours truly. enjoy the last chapter :)

Bruce comes back home from space just over two weeks later and notices that something’s wrong almost straight away.

After stripping off the Batman suit and storing it away before having a shower, he walks up to Damian, who’s already up and moving about even though he’s _meant_ to be on bed rest after so much blood loss, and studies him like he’s an art connoisseur and Damian’s face is a painting in a museum.

Damian freezes and stares back up at him as Bruce lifts a hand and pushes a few strands of dark hair out of his green eyes. “Your nose was broken again,” he states. “How.” 

Damian's eyes dart to Dick before he looks back at Bruce and composes himself, face turning completely blank. Dick would like to say that it’s less terrifying than back when Damian was younger and used to stuff all of his emotions in a small box in the back of his mind, left under lock and key as he went on with a straight face, but then he’d be lying. 

“Patrol,” Damian states, and _technically_, he isn’t lying. But Bruce isn’t fooled so easily. 

“Oh?” He says as he raises an eyebrow, voice soft and low, _dangerous_ even. “And I suppose that’s your explanation for why you’re limping.”

Damian opens his mouth to speak, but Bruce cuts him off, hands curling into fists. “And why there’s what looks like a scar from a cigarette burn on your neck.” Damian smacks a hand over said scar, ducking his head a little like that’ll make it less noticeable. 

“And why your hand is bandaged.” Damian belatedly hides the offending hand behind his back, nodding seriously. Bruce’s jaw clenches.

“And why you’re wearing shorts even though it’s nearly winter.” Damian glances down, eyes widening slightly like he’s noticing his own bare legs for the first time in his life, and then looks up at Bruce again, his mouth curling downwards into a frown. 

“Father, nothing is wrong —”

“I see. Was your brother patrolling with you?” 

Damian’s right eye twitches in annoyance. “We all went on patrol _together_. You’ll need to stop being so cryptic and specify which one you’re talking about, Father.”

Bruce narrows his eyes. “Tim.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“_Yes_, he went on patrol with me!” Damian snaps, rolling his eyes. “Would you _please_ just get to the point you’re meant to be making?”

“So that means you’ll know where the gash in his head came from.” Damian is silent. “And he will know where all of your injuries came from.”

Bruce’s eyes scan the rest of Damian’s body, flashing upward when Damian winces almost imperceptibly at the pull on his shoulder wound as he crosses his arms tightly over his chest. 

“As will your other brothers.” He turns around, both eyebrows raised now. “Dick?”

Dick clears his throat. “Yeah?”

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

“Not particularly, no.” Dick hesitates and then carries on speaking. “I mean, other than the fact that Tim and Dami got kidnapped and beaten up and we fucked up so badly that Damian nearly _died_, there’s not really much to say.”

“_What_.” Bruce’s voice is flat and toneless, but that is enough for Dick to know that he’s livid and extremely worried as he turns to look back at Damian, who lets out a scandalised _Richard!_

Dick can only imagine the betrayed look on his face. 

“He’s exaggerating, Father, I am perfectly fine,” Damian rushes to explain, glaring furiously over Bruce’s shoulder at Dick. “I did _not_ nearly die, and even if I had, it would not be at the hands of some puny thieves who weren’t even able to tie me up properly.”

“Kid, you nearly bled out.” All three of them turn around at the sound of a new voice to see an annoyed looking Jason coming down the stairs, Tim not too far behind him. 

Damian opens his mouth to protest, but Tim interrupts him as he and Jason walk up to them. “Damian, do you _really_ want me to give Bruce an extensive list of your injuries so you’re benched for even _longer_ for not telling him the truth, or would you rather do it yourself?”

Damian’s fingers twitch visibly from where he’s tucked them into the crook of his elbows, and he looks pissed. Bruce looks at him expectantly, eyes hardening when he doesn’t say anything. 

“Robin, report.” 

Damian jerks on the spot, mouth opening then closing before he starts to blurt it all out, looking even angrier with every word that comes out of his mouth, like he has no control over what he’s saying. 

“Gunshot wound to the right shoulder. Broken nose. Bruises around the neck from strangulation.” He rubs absentmindedly at his throat. They’re faded now after going through two weeks of healing, but Dick can vividly remember the vicious purple bruises in the shape of a huge handprint around Damian’s neck.

They’d looked big enough that if whoever caused them had applied a little more pressure, they could’ve easily snapped Damian’s neck. Dick shudders at the thought. 

“Chest pains and breathing difficulties, at the time.” _What?_

“Stab wound in the left hand. Cigarette burn on the neck. Stab wound in the upper right thigh.” Damian looks pale and tense now, an angry flush spreading across his cheeks as he scowls up at Bruce, practically a mirror image of him. 

“Drake was also thrown into a shelf of baby products, which gave him a concussion and a possible leg injury,” Damian says, sneering at them now. “Is that enough for you, Father, or would you like a word for word reiteration of exactly what they did to me?” 

Bruce’s lips thin. “That’ll be all, Damian. Sit down,” he adds on when Damian looks like he’s about to leave, pointing at the medical cot. Damian glowers at him before marching over to it and sitting down with his arms still crossed, shoulders rigid. 

“Boys?” They all straighten up when Bruce turns back to them, and he already looks exhausted just from hearing what happened to Damian. “Anything else you’d like to add?”

Dick knows him well enough by now to know that when they’re all busy or asleep, Bruce will be busy poring over the footage from Robin’s mask, guilt tripping himself over not being here to save his son from being tortured. 

“Actually, I’d like to ask Damian something,” Tim says, glancing over at him. 

“Get on with it then,” Damian snaps. “Feel free to interrogate me for however long you like. You wouldn’t be wasting my time _at all.”_

“They did something else to you, didn’t they?” Tim asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question, sounds more like he wants it to be confirmed than answered. “That’s why you had breathing difficulties and chest pains.”

Tim looks at each of them in turn as he speaks now. “I noticed that Damian’s hair was damp when we went into the room where he was being held, but I knew he wouldn’t tell me what had happened unless he had no choice but to do so.” 

“Ask the damn question, Drake. Stop talking in circles.”

“What did they do, Damian?”

He’s silent for a moment, jaw working like he’s trying to bite back the answer. “They forced my head underwater and held me there so I couldn’t breathe. There is a possibility that I inhaled some of the water.”

Rage floods through Dick, and for a moment, he wishes that he’d beaten those bastards up even harder, hard enough to land them up in hospital for as long as it takes Damian to fully recover, if not longer. When he looks at Tim and Jason and Bruce, they seem like they’d be up for it too. 

“I’d also like to point out that Damian only got shot because he was trying to save me,” Tim continues, ignoring the vengeful look on Damian’s face. “I was in the path of the bullet and Damian intercepted.”

“You make it sound like I pushed you away or jumped in front of the bullet myself,” Damian growls under his breath. “I’m not suicidal.” 

Tim just shrugs at him. “Still. You sacrificed yourself for me, which I thought we’d all agreed you were going to stop doing.”

“You would’ve gotten shot in the _head_, and _I_ agreed to no such thing. You all decided it for me,” Damian hisses, then whirls around to scowl at Bruce again. “Really, would you rather have an injured son or a _dead_ son, Father?”

Bruce freezes, face going pale and tight, making him look even older than he is. “I would rather have a son who didn’t think he was _expendable_, whether that’s in the field or not. Therefore, you’re benched for another two weeks.”

Damian stiffens, and he looks like he’s about to explode. “_Excuse me?_” 

“You're staying at home until you’re fully healed, and that is _not_ optional, end of discussion.” Damian’s staring now, and his hands are shaking. “No compromises, no deals, you’re not going out again as Robin until Alfred confirms that you have made a full recovery.” 

“But that’s not _fair!_” 

“It’s perfectly _fair_ to want my son to stay at home until he learns that he is _not_ dispensable, nor has he _ever_ been.”

“That means no Robin for a whole _month_.”

“I am aware, Damian.” Damian looks like he wants to argue. “You seem to be under the impression that I’m not serious. Let me assure you that if you so much as step _one foot_ out of the manor, I will have you sedated, strapped down to the medical cot and you will _not_ see your pets until those two weeks are over. _Is that understood?” _

Damian looks shocked, face pale and eyes wide.

Bruce’s face softens as he makes his way to Damian and sits on the cot next to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, a soft smile making its way onto his face when Damian just shrugs it off and carries on glaring at him, mutinous. 

“Damian, I understand that when your mother first brought you to Gotham, our relationship was... difficult.” Dick gives Tim a stern look when he snorts and points out under his breath that what Bruce just said is a _big_ understatement.

“And then I left you on your own, and once I finally came back, it was still hard for us to work with each other, and that was all on _me_. I should’ve trusted you like I do now.” Bruce sighs, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again, determined as he places his hands on Damian’s face to get him to make eye contact. 

“I should’ve explained that you are my child just as much as Dick, Jason and Tim are. That I love you all _equally_, and that seeing _any_ of you in pain hurts me.” 

Dick’s pretty sure that’s the most emotionally loaded confession he’s heard from Bruce in _years_. 

“All of your lives are of the same value to me, and that means you are all _priceless_. I would do anything to keep you all safe and happy and _alive_, and maybe that means I should’ve stopped you all from becoming Robin. But if there’s anything I’ve learned over the years, it’s that you’re all stubborn enough that my disapproval alone wouldn’t stop you from heading out onto the streets yourselves.” 

“Even so, it is not Robin’s job to sacrifice himself for others. His job is to stay by Batman’s side, help Batman, and then come home safe and sound at the end of patrol.” One of Bruce’s hands falls to land on Damian’s chest, and Dick _knows_ for a fact that it’s right on top of the scar left on his skin after he died. 

“I can’t afford to lose you, Damian.” Bruce tilts his head a little so he can see them all. “Any of you. Not again. I can’t be Batman knowing that my own children refuse to keep themselves safe. So _please_, Damian, make sure there is _nothing else_ you can do instead before giving yourself up.” 

Damian doesn’t say anything, doesn’t nod or shake his head, but after a while, his shoulders droop like a wilting leaf. And that seems to be enough of an answer for Bruce, who deflates in relief.

Bruce buries his face in Damian’s hair, chest rising as he inhales deeply and carefully wraps his arms around Damian to pull him closer, opening his eyes as Damian drops his head against his chest and tentatively returns the hug. He still looks so _small_ in Bruce’s arms, like the child he’d been once they’d finally gotten him back. Like the child he still _is._

Dick, Tim and Jason look at each other, nodding before slowly joining Bruce and Damian on the medical cot in a warm embrace. Damian squirms, stuck in the middle before he finally gives in, settling and relaxing. 

It takes a while, but Damian manages to wriggle his way out of their arms, sniffling as he rubs at his wet eyes, an embarrassed flush rising to his face. Dick almost coos at him and pinches his cheeks before remembering that just because he can’t _see_ a sword anywhere, that doesn’t mean Damian doesn’t _have_ one somewhere nearby. 

Damian stands there for a moment, lips pursed. He looks so soft and warm that Dick kinda wants to drag him back in for another cuddle before he remembers to scowl at them.

“I hate you _all_,” Damian finally spits out, his red little nose twitching before he turns around and storms off, stomping all the way up the stairs to make his anger known. 

“We love you too,” Dick calls out after him, grinning. Damian just huffs and speeds up, practically running away from them. 

“Go to bed, midget,” Jason adds on, and Dick just about catches Damian giving him the middle finger before he disappears upstairs into the manor. 

“I — _hey!_” Tim exclaims when Bruce snatches up his thermos and drains all of the coffee from it before giving it back to him, practically on the verge of falling asleep.

“That was exhausting,” Bruce grumbles into his hands, closing his eyes as he slumps over. Jason snickers, slugging him in the shoulder, but all Bruce does in response is mumble something under his breath and try to smack his hand away when Jason starts prodding at his arm, failing miserably.

“Looks like someone else needs some sleep too, huh?” Jason says, eyes bright with mirth, laughter in his voice as he helps Bruce to stand up and heaves one of his arms over his shoulders, leading him over to the stairs. 

Dick follows them, forcing Tim out of the seat in front of the computers so he can go to bed too, because Tim will never not need more sleep. 

“Hey, B?”

Bruce grunts. 

“What gave him away? Damian?” Dick asks, curious. “How did you know something was wrong? I mean, other than all of the signs you pointed out before. You came in and practically made a beeline for him.” 

“Had a bad feeling while I was gone,” Bruce says, and doesn’t explain any further. Dick has a feeling he’s not said everything. 

“_You had a bad feeling?_” Dick repeats, and he can hear the skepticism in his own voice. Bruce shrugs in front of him, and Dick wishes he was next to him, just so he could see the look on Bruce’s face as he spouts such utter _bullshit_. 

“And... Alfred told me that I might not see Damian today because he’s supposed to be in bed, recovering from a bad patrol,” Bruce adds on a little sheepishly. 

“Ha! I _knew_ it, you little liar,” Dick says, feeling very smug. 

“Speaking of going to bed,” Bruce hurriedly butts in. “I think we should all get an early night’s sleep today.”

“But... what about patrol?” Tim asks, yawning like he’s trying to counteract his own point. 

“Even vigilantes deserve a break sometimes.”

There’s maybe a few seconds of complete silence before all of them, except Bruce, burst out laughing.

“This is coming from _you_ of all people, that _we_ need to have a break,” Jason just about manages to get out, and he actually sounds like he’s choking on his own laughter. Bruce reaches out to pat him on the back in an attempt to help, but that just makes him laugh even harder. “My god, Vicki Vale would have a field day with this.” 

“Yeah, Bruce, what the hell? Did you get body-swapped with an alien or something while you were up in space or are you turning over a new leaf?” Tim wheezes, his face going bright red. 

“I think it’s the old age that’s getting to him,” Dick adds helpfully, trying to hold back a snort. “He’s going senile.” 

“Quiet, you brats,” Bruce says, sounding sullen, and that just sets them all off again, giggling and cackling like a pack of spotted hyenas. 

“Hey,” Dick starts once he thinks he can control himself. “If we’re not going on patrol tonight, why don’t we have a movie night instead, and then sleep all day _tomorrow_ before patrol?” 

“I’m up for it as long as _you’re_ not the one choosing the movie,” Jason says, being unnecessarily mean. 

“Hey!”

Dick looks to Tim for support, but he just nods in agreement. Dick has been _betrayed_ by his little brothers. 

“Even if I _was_ choosing the movie, it would be an _awesome_ one because I have _great_ taste.” Dick ignores Tim when he snorts again. “But I was going to suggest that we let Bruce and Damian choose, because they’re both injured and tired.” 

“You wanted them to be able to choose because they’re an elderly person and a small child,” Jason corrects him, barely ducking out of the way in time when Bruce tries to swat the back of his head. 

“_No_,” Tim groans. “Sometimes Damian chooses good stuff but all Bruce ever watches is documentaries on serial killers or animals living in the wild.”

“Hey, they’re not _that_ bad.” 

Jason must feel Tim and Dick staring at the back of his head, because he turns to look at them, turning pink when he realises that their attention is solely on him. “_What?_ They’re good sometimes, and the little ones can be cute.” 

“Little serial killers can be cute?” 

“_No_, I meant the animals, the babies. _They’re_ cute,” Jason explains, and his ears are red now.

“Jay, you’re such a softie.”

“_Shut it_, Dickface.” 

“Jason, mind your language,” Bruce says, like he’s only just realised they’ve been swearing this whole time. “And Dick, don’t antagonise your brother.” 

“Alfred is not going to approve,” Tim says wisely, but no one hears him. And it’s like he’s being summoned, because Alfred suddenly appears at the top of the stairs, peering down at them over the rims of his glasses with a raised eyebrow. 

“You are all headed to the theatre room, I presume?” 

How did he even _know?_ Stupid question, he’s _Alfred_. He knows _everything_. 

They all nod. “I see. Then I shall bring some refreshments and Master Damian from the garden.” 

“Could you bring some blankets too, please?” Dick requests politely. “Then we can all cuddle!” 

“_Hell no._” Jason sounds disgusted at the thought, which is actually a little offensive. “Getting blankets is a good idea. Cuddling with you is _not_.”

“Why not?” Dick asks, pouting at him. 

“Because you’ll just end up hogging all of the blankets, wrapping around me like an octopus and then suffocating me.” 

“I wouldn’t _suffocate_ you,” Dick protests, reaching out for Jason. “I’d just give you a really tight hug, which would feel really nice. Like the one I’m about to give you now.” 

Jason takes a step back, eyes widening. “No. Nope.” Dick moves closer to him, arms wide open. “Dick, stay where you are. _Stay_.” 

“Jason, he’s not a _dog_,” Tim says, laughing.

“He might as well be!” Jason exclaims. “Overly affectionate, slobbering all over the place, what more do you need me to say?”

Dick freezes, arms outstretched. “Hey! I do not _slobber_.” And then he lunges. 

Jason yelps and actually starts to run away from him, feet thumping heavily against the floor. As Dick chases after him, grinning so widely that his cheeks hurt, he can’t help but feel grateful that he’s so lucky to have such an incredible family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading, this has been a real trip. I didn’t expect it to be this long, or for me to take this long to get the whole fic out, but thank you anyway to everyone who’s been there from the beginning, anyone who joined midway and anyone who’s reading the finished product. Your comments and kudos have been really encouraging and a real morale booster, so thanks for that too :) 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed and hopefully I should be back soon with a second fic for this series. In the meantime, stay safe!!

**Author's Note:**

> I live off comments and kudos, so please leave any feedback you want (as long as it’s not too rude) and I’ll try to update as quick as I can!
> 
> Also, for more updates, come say hi on [Tumblr!](http://hafsicle0786.tumblr.com/)


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